The Erroneous Way of Copycats
by Working-On-Sanity
Summary: James hated Mime Jr.'s bouts of mimicking him, and he knew that nothing short of gagging himself would stop the horrid game. Unless, of course, it was showing off his own soft way of teasing. Mime Jr./James.


**THE ERRONEOUS WAY OF COPYCATS**

**Summary: **James hated Mime Jr.'s bouts of mimicking him, and he knew that nothing short of gagging himself would stop the horrid game. Unless, of course, it was showing off his own soft way of teasing.

**Author's Note: **I'm trying to write oneshots for my favorite pairings. Mime Jr./James and Meowth/James is checked off the list, and I'm working on Giovanni/Jessie/James. There isn't actually anything _done _to Mime Jr. this time around, so mainly this was written to mess with James's character.

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><p>"James! Do you know where my blue sweater is?"<p>

Drawing her palm over her flat abdomen for emphasis, Jessie expelled a melodramatic sigh. "I looked through all my suitcases, but I can't find it. And I need it today; it matches my denim skirt."

Oblivious to the way James's back tensed with irritation, Jessie folded her arms over her bulging chest, shifting her weight to rest on one boot-clad foot as she awaited a reply. Her red eyebrow quirked up her smooth forehead as she regarded the ripples of unease that emanated from James, but rather than return to her room to resume her search without assistance, she adamantly signaled that she was not about to leave.

"I don't know where the wretched thing is," James offhandedly answered, bending over the desk to conceal the sheet of paper that he was scribbling on. "Go look in my duffel bag. I'm sure I wore it the day before yesterday and put it there."

"Well!" Jessie exclaimed, crunching her fingers into fists and pressing them to the curves of her hips in a defiant pose. "You don't have to snap at me. I was only asking––I wasn't trying to bother you."

"You are bothering me, though," James murmured, more intent on his task than on offering a satisfying retort. "I'm trying to cipher these maths for our electric bill, and I can't _think _with you standing there gabbing about your sweater."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Jessie muttered, lowering her head to stare lividly at the battered, sagging laminate flooring. "But you can't cipher all day, you know. You remember that we were going to pay a visit to the shops. We need to go down to the stir house, too––we've been running out of bottled water for ages, and now we really don't have any more left."

"Fine," James curtly dismissed. "Let me finish adding these last few things up. Get me a jumper and a matching pair of slacks, would you? I won't be long."

His tone was so flat and unconcerned that Jessie relented. "Oh, alright," she exhaled in defeat. "I'll leave your outfit on your bedroll."

"Thanks." Without further elaboration on the subject, James returned to his chore, dutifully sketching a series of numbers onto the back of a voucher slip. He appeared to be enveloped in such concentration that Jessie dared not ask him what color blouse he wished to wear. Anxiously, she turned away, stalking from the room in a dulled huff of vexation.

_Finally! _James groaned to himself, increasing the strength of his grip on the pencil. _And Jessie wonders why I'm the one who has to work out our payments and rent... she's at sixes and sevens about any sort of thing involving money. If she was the one to work out our bank accounts, we'd be completely sunk––we wouldn't have enough money to even go to the market at all!_

Sighing deeply, the motion leaving him feeling drained and drowsy, James dropped his chin to rest on his wrists and let his eyelids relax to nearly cover his hazy green irises. He felt entirely too idle, despite having struggled with the seemingly endless challenge of mathematics for the greater portion of two hours. And at the present, all he could honestly say that he desired was to crawl into his rumpled sleeping bag for a long stretch of frequent naps.

He didn't realize that he had unintentionally slipped into a state of dozing, but when a piercing, familiar high-pitched cry split neatly through the silence, he jerked fully awake. The papers that were pinned to his clipboard were pulled free by his rapid movement to straighten his posture, and a variety of mailed notices and receipts fluttered to the floor in a tangle of disarray.

"Oh, _rats_!" he whined in disbelief, hastily leaning across the arm of the office chair to swipe at the papers, attempting to gather each leaf before it descended to the floor. He was not successful, but instead of merely crouching to collect the disorganized papers, he sulked over the mishap, moodily slouching in his chair and thrusting ignited glares toward the empty opposite wall.

"That wouldn't have happened if you had left me alone," he accused, not sparing his attacker a single curious glance.

The Mime Jr. frowned in uncharacteristic disheartened remorse, not having anticipated such a pouting, miffed response. Its button-like eyes squinted contemplatively, as if to assure itself that the boy in front of it truly was its normally cheerful Trainer.

"I mean it. I don't feel like playing right now," James sternly informed, plainly stating that he was not experiencing the best of emotions at the moment. "So go off and find Wobbuffet. Have a go with the checker board or something." Raising his hand in a flippant gesture, he airily waved in the direction of the door, suggesting that Mime Jr. do as it was bade.

Not physically showing any signs that it was meaning to obey, the Pokémon instinctively mimicked James's movements, lifting one arm to flick its paw as if shooing away an unwanted visitor.

"Stop it!" Childishly yelping, feeling indignation rise in his stomach at being mocked, James angrily jabbed his finger at the open door. He was very accustomed to the long games that Mime Jr. enjoyed; without prelude, the cheeky creature would launch into a tiresome routine of imitating each and every thing that James did. Irritating its Trainer seemed to please Mime Jr.; although it was never done with ill intentions, it was a game that James was not very keen on.

"Go _on_," he ordered with an air of finality. "I'll put you back in your Poké Ball, and I know you don't want that." Only to ensure that Mime Jr. had ceased to copy him, James shifted in his seat enough to cup his cheek in his palm, propping his elbow against the account book that lay open on the desktop.

As if unable to refrain from doing so, the Mime Jr. did the same, pressing its arms to an imaginary flat surface and supporting the curve of its rounded face in the dip of its paw. It looked almost guilty as it did so, and it steadily observed they way James stiffened, slumping lower in his chair.

_This is pathetic, _the Rocket bemoaned his situation. _I'm getting tired of this... but Mime Jr. won't stop until it gets after someone else. I haven't found any other way for it to stop without it finding Jessie or Meowth. But maybe..._

The very genesis of an idea began to tweak his mind, and without even considering what could be the consequence of his action, he abruptly stood up, yanking his leg up to slam the rubber sole of his boot onto the top of the desk.

"Come on," he encouraged, his tone low and his voice stretching out smoothly. "Do it."

Startled by the sudden contrast of attitude, the Mime Jr. reluctantly pulled its short, stocky blue leg into the air, balancing expertly on apparently nothing. It cautiously watched James, vaguely wondering if its Trainer was mapping out the plot of some embarrassing prank. But James had never carried out any act of malice against it, no matter how trivial, so the Mime Jr. trustingly awaited its next command.

Smugly, James realized that his idea would work quite effectively.

"Alright, good job!" he approved enthusiastically, his viridian eyes glinting with mischievous mirth. "Now, see if you can do _this!_"

His last word was muffled and barely coherent as he shoved two gloved fingers into his mouth, pressing them flat over his tongue. He closed his eyes halfway, just enough to still see Mime Jr.'s reaction to his sensual display––James refused to grin at the dumbfounded expression darkening the Pokémon's face.

"Oh, come on," he purred huskily, stroking his soft tongue beneath the pads of his fingers. Sliding them beneath his tongue and rolling them deeper into his mouth, he gently closed his lips over his knuckles and proceeded to give a lengthy, moist suck to the wet digits.

"Muh––" the Mime Jr. was unable to stammer out even a choked version of its cry, staring in blank horror at the show its Trainer was exhibiting. It made no attempt at mimicking James's erotic activity, and its long arms fell uselessly to its sides as it weakly swallowed back what little desire it still held to imitate James.

"Wh––what's wrong?" James panted, leaning forward; his foot still pressed to the desk, he pitched himself over until his knee pushed into his heaving chest. "You d––don't want to play 'nymore?"

Twisting his fingers inside his mouth vigorously, in what looked as if it would be more painful than arousing, he popped them free and shakily wiped his hand over the seam of trousers to dry his moistened glove. In hopes that this odd behavior had come to a conclusion, Mime Jr. tentatively squeaked––before it was given the chance to do much more, James had completely lowered himself to the desk, stretching over the opened dogeared books and pamphlets and dislodging the loose sheets of paper.

"You aren't 'fraid to copy me, are you?" he mumbled thickly, fumbling to push his knees into the cushion of his chair. The edge of the desk bit uncomfortably into his abdomen, but he ignored the unpleasant sensation as he drove more energy into lapping at his fingers. He appeared to be so completely enthralled in licking his hand that Mime Jr. was not entirely certain that he even noticed it was there.

"_Mime?_" it intoned nervously, concerned about its Trainer's well-being––it had never witnessed this slice of James's personality before, and that flamboyant side of James was influencing him to emit such wistful, warm noises as he––

"James!"

Jessie clutched the door frame in undisguised disgust, her nails digging into the abused oak paneling. Her blue eyes were wide as she absorbed the disconcerting sight of James being splayed over the desk, his fingers shoved down his throat––as if she felt nauseated, her face began to pale, and she hastily averted her gaze.

Startled, James yanked his fingers from his mouth, fumbling to stand as he slid to his feet. More papers fluttered to the floor, only adding to the clutter; anxiously, he folded his arms behind his back, but there was nothing he could do to conceal the deep flush that burned his cheeks. His countenance was one of a child feigning innocence; as if he had been caught in the midst of a crime, he stared down at the scuffed toes of his boots, discreetly licking his lips as he sent Mime Jr. a sidelong glance.

_I won, _he thought victoriously, as Mime Jr. continued to gape at him.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>What have I done. And why am I posting so many things in a row? I've already put out a chapter of _Onyx _and _Red Thread,_ posted _Cold Sarcasm _and now this. Aye aye. I think it's because thinking of Venus flytraps so much dried up most of my brain.


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